


Female Reader X The Witch (yuri)

by CampGreen



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Literature, Romance, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-12-04 05:24:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11548374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampGreen/pseuds/CampGreen
Summary: Another L4D smutfic. I've dabbled in female on female before, but this is the first of my stories to fully embrace it. Left 4 Dead is owned by Valve.





	Female Reader X The Witch (yuri)

**1 WEEK AFTER FIRST INFECTION**

Your hurried footsteps splash through the puddles of last night's thunderstorm. The fog is so thick it looks like every cloud in the sky came down to blanket the modest streets of Rayford, Georgia. The horde is hot on your tail, you can faintly hear their rabid dog-like snarls not far behind you. You check your pump shotgun and see it's only got three shells in it. That hoodie'd motherfucker got you good on the side and now a persistent pain surges from your ribs to throughout your entire body and slows you down. Hell, you're training most on your strength on stopping the bleeding as opposed to running. You're not going to last out here for much longer. You have to seek refuge in the very first building you see. Of course, it's so damn foggy, seeing a building is easier said than done. Finally, your eyes find a back door burning through the mist. You don't waste a single second retreating inside of it, and you slam it shut before sinking your back down the door to the ground, the darkness illuminated only by the red "EXIT" sign from above. Even these few seconds of rest feel absolutely heavenly. You snap out of it, however, to patch yourself up with your medkit, giving your nasty gash a wrap of bandages. Right as you fix that problem, another one arrives right at your doorstep, when a pale, veiny arm punches through the door and clutches you by the throat. Your shotgun falls to the ground and you're strangled. You fish the crowbar off your belt and messily pry yourself free from the Common Infected's choke-hold by tearing its arm off. 

As you catch your breath, the door is slowly ripped to shreds by the herd from outside, so you snatch your shotgun off the floor and sprint as far away from it as possible. Judging from the simplistic layout, carpeted flooring, and array of doors, you'd have to guess you're in a motel. It's completely pitch black, the generator likely caught in the crossfire of the war between mankind and the Infected, so it's up to your shotgun's taclight to guide you. You carefully prowl the complex of its many supply closets and motel rooms. Nothing. No pills, no weapons, no ammo, nothing. It's almost as if this place had long been ransacked before, and the sloppy seconds left were a handful of zombies wandering about. Two rush you upon being singed by the ray of your light. You thwack the first one in the head with the crowbar, but its claw gets wedged in its skull. With not enough time to rip it out, you let it fall to the floor along with the slump corpse it's stuck in and blast the other zombie's stomach open with a point-blank pull of the trigger, letting its entrails spill to your feet. Now you've only got two shells left. You haven't quite gotten use to gunfire yet, so your ears ring for the next few minutes. Meanwhile you put your tennis shoe on the base of the first zombie's skull and, with much struggle, manage to lever the thing out of its brain. Then you hear sobbing creepily bouncing throughout the motel. It's haunting, like the echoes of a sad little girl's soul. This is the first normal thing you've heard since this outbreak started. You rack your shotgun and investigate, never letting your gun down or your walk get too fast. You definitively locate the source of the crying, from inside a certain motel room, and let the door slowly creak open after turning the knob and giving it a light push. 

_"Hello?"_ you cast your shy voice into the black void of the room. Your flashlight ray slowly scans the darkness. In the center of the room is a skinny woman, in nothing but the tattered remains of a tank-top and panties, the pigment so worn out they're virtually colorless to match her deathly pale skin and scraggly greyish blonde hair. She's sat on the floor, back turned to you. She doesn't seem to notice and continues sobbing. You gently approach her then place your hand on her shoulder for comfort. _"I'm not going to h **OLY SHIT!"**_

Her head jerks around at inhuman speeds and through the thousands of thin, drab strings from that mop draped past her face like a cape, you can see glimpses of her scarlet eyes and teeth twisted into a vicious expression. She swipes forward and four razor-edged nails slice through your shirt and skin. You clutch your new, clean wound in agony and fall back in a stagger, sending your shotgun and crowbar sliding just out reach. Your fingertips can just barely scrape the chipped metal of the crowbar's skin before a pair of blood-drenched hands seize down on your throat like a hydraulic press. You've heard whispers of these things, the most elusive and dangerous of all of the mutants, even Tanks. The woman whose strangling the life out of you is called The Witch. The fatigue and injuries leave you helpless against her strength. The girl looks almost anorexic but it feels like a bodybuilder is wringing your neck. As you wheeze and cough out your last breaths, you try to think of something, anything you could possibly do to escape. Finally your mind lands on something that sounds absolutely retarded, but just might work, and at this point it's the only thing left that you have enough strength to do. You just barely manage to wiggle out of the Witch's choke for a second or so, which you use to fire a kiss on her lips. Suddenly all of the brutishness and hatred evaporates from her face, completely taking her aback. The pale skin under her eyes turn cherry red, and she no longer looks like an animal, but a person. An embarrassed, confused person. She shakes out of the daze but instead of resuming her attack, exchanges the favor, pressing her tongue into your mouth. 

After a pause of surprise very similar to the Witch's just now, you embrace and run your hands through her beautiful pallid mane as the two of you make out on the soft carpet floor. Your brain is completely shut off and replaced with sheer lust and passion. Your two soaking wet vaginas fill the room with a tangy aroma. She finishes off your already mangled shirt to let your C cups free, sagging them out with a jiggle. She dotingly squeezes and licks them, moisturizing your chest with your own saliva you traded earlier and making you moan and whimper in delight. Your nipples are so sensitive, they're like pressure points that keep sending wave after wave of pussy juice crashing upon your vaginal walls. She drags your shorts and panties down to your knees after hooking your waistline with her index finger. Your heels grind against the carpet once the Witch slips two of her fingers into your vulva, increasing the pleasure by tenfold. Despite your cunt being wetter than the ocean, the Witch still has some struggle wiggling in there thanks to the sheer tightness of the interior. This is your first time, and it couldn't have been any better. She moves her head down to your crotch and, spreading your legs out, starts digging in like a hungry dog. Your fingers and toes curl as the elation keeps somehow rising beyond what you thought was the summit, and at this point your moans start to become yells. Her tongue circles around your clitoris when she sticks her middle finger back up into your snatch. When it sweeps past your G-spot, for a split second the pleasure skyrockets through the roof, making you squeak like a chew toy. She ruthlessly exploits this, evolving your yells to screams as it feels like you're being drowned in a bathtub filled to the lip with unrelenting, godlike ecstasy. 

Your hands tightly grasp the Witch's head as she teases your G-spot with her fingertip and eats you out in unison, and finally a spout of lubricant gushes out of your pussy with a moan that echos for miles. You wheeze in a puddle of your own sweat and juice as your fingers fondly run through the Witch's hair. The two of you share a gleeful gaze after she licks off the splat of clear liquid masking her. However, the mood is killed when the horde encompassing the motel let out a ghostly, singular wail like the gates of Hell themselves opening. Your climax was so loud it was a Crescendo Event, and now hundreds of zombies are on their way to feast upon your flesh. You try to shoot up to your feet but your panties strung around your ankles trip you right back to the floor. You desperately reach for your shotgun but it's too late. An entire mob of Common Infected are already at the door. You can almost see the hunger in their otherwise completely lifeless eyes. Just when all hope seems lost, the Witch leaps between you and the zombies and lets out a furious shriek directly at them. It looks like she's...reprimanding her underlings like a fed-up mother. After a dead silent pause, the fiery craving is scared out of their eyes, and the Infected seem to forget they ever saw you, shambling back the way they came. The Witch saved you. She bullied the horde out of targeting you, and now that it's just the two of you lovely ladies in a motel room, you tumble onto the bed together and continue wildly exploring every crevice of one another's bodies. After one long, infernal week of trudging on through the Green Flu outbreak, you've finally stumbled upon the light at the end of the tunnel - a gorgeous girlfriend who'll keep you protected from the big bad horde. For the first time ever, you think "Maybe this apocalypse isn't so bad after all..."

**_We're safe... for now._ **  



End file.
